‘Oh, I don’t know… I… just thought… I was out looking for mistletoe, holly and ivy. I often walk through the woods, gathering wild salad for Kenver or herbs and leaves for Beatrice,’ she finished lamely.

‘Really? A kind and thoughtful act by a kind and thoughtful girl.’ He looked in her basket. ‘It’s empty,’ he said.

‘Well, there’s not much to gather at this time of the year.’

He raised a lazy eyebrow. ‘Not much mistletoe, holly and ivy?’

‘Well, I… I… I suppose I was too busy thinking of something.’ Rosie wanted the ground to open up under her feet and swallow her. What had she let herself in for?

‘About something or someone in particular?’

Rosie’s heart thumped and her brain raced for ideas for a suitable answer to this. She stared at the basket and recalled her excuse for carrying it. ‘Kenver!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was wondering what to give Kenver as a Christmas present.’

‘Were you now?’

Rosie couldn’t tell if his question was asked impatiently, sarcastically, or indifferently. She was sure she had made a big mistake lingering behind the oak tree. She was about to make an excuse to go when he asked her something that made her gasp.

‘Would you like a drink, Rosie?’ he said, picking up the wine bottle and holding it out to her.

Ought she not flee? Some folk from the Bible classes would say to be offered wine by this man was like being asked to drink with the Devil. How much of the Devil was in Sir Oliver Pengarron?

His dark eyes chained her to the spot. She shook her head and heard herself saying, ‘No thank you, sir. I had a drink from the stream just now.’

‘As you please. Sit down,’ he motioned to the end of the log, ‘or do you have to be on your way?’

‘I… I suppose it won’t hurt to sit down for a moment or two.’ Rosie sat at what she deemed to be a respectable distance.

‘I hope you are taking due care while you’re out alone, Rosie. I take it you have heard of the disappearance of one of the bal-maidens from the Wheal Ember mine.’

‘Heather Bawden, you mean, sir? She’s a wild one, that maid. I was almost too afraid to look at her for fear of what she’d say. Some do say because she’s young in the head the small people have taken her away to look after their children. But most folk believe she’s run off with a man somewhere. There was a travelling group of actors in Marazion of late, she spent a lot of time hanging round they. Some do believe she’s gone off after they, looking for excitement.’